


An Open Book

by hookedonbooks22



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, author!killian, librarian!emma, reader!emma, very vague light smutty scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 10:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hookedonbooks22/pseuds/hookedonbooks22
Summary: Emma Swan moved to Storybrooke in search of the sense of peace she'd always longed for.She hadn't realized that she might find it between the pages of a book.Or in the person who wrote it.





	An Open Book

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first fan fiction I ever started. However, it's been sitting in my drafts unfinished for months with only a couple thousand words written. I never intended for it to end up being this long but inspiration grabbed ahold of me and wouldn't let go.
> 
> It's a bit of a marrying of my two favorite things: books and Captain Swan.
> 
> Also, I dipped my toe into the shallowest end of the smut writing pool so I rated it M just to be safe.

Emma Swan sat at the front desk devouring the words of the final book in her favorite series at Storybrooke Public Library during her Friday evening shift. This shift had become her favorite one to work since surprisingly to her (unsurprisingly in reality), the library was not quite the hot spot on Friday nights. The kids in town were having sleepovers or preparing for the high school football game or seeing a movie, having just finished a week of school. Most adults were at Granny’s Diner or The Rabbit Hole destressing from the work week and the other adults were with the aforementioned kids.

But, Emma didn’t have school or a stressful work week (her work was very _un_ stressful) or any children. No, Emma Swan was a loner who had finally found peace among a bunch of shelves of books and surrounded by the scent of musty old pages mixing with the scent of freshly printed paper. She still hadn’t decided which scent she liked better (and had been given countless weird looks for shoving her nose into the crease of the novel she was reading to give it a good sniff).

When she arrived in Storybrooke a year ago, she hadn’t planned to stay. She just wanted a vacation in a quaint town with a small population of nice people. She wanted a break from chasing down perps so she could give her body (and mind) some recovery time. Emma was tired of being sore and angry all the time and she didn’t realize just how tired she really was until she laid down on the bed in her room at Granny’s and fell into a deep slumber to almost complete silence out her window instead of the honking and screeching and yelling she experienced from the window of her Boston apartment. Her jaw dropped to the floor when she woke up and realized she had slept for twelve hours.

She had finally felt like she could think straight that day. It had been years since her mind had felt so clear, serene. And because she had no idea what one was supposed to do on a vacation in a place like Storybrooke, she decided she would get some coffee (because, let’s be honest, even though she was plenty rested, she had an extreme addiction) and stroll around town, go with the flow.

And she didn’t mind at first, getting stopped along the street to be chatted to. Apparently Storybrooke didn’t get many new faces. She figured this was what people of small towns did. They wanted to have conversations because the people actually cared for each other (go figure). But, when the eleventh person began to wave and stop her in front of the town library, she felt her anger start to well back up and she really just wanted to be left to her own thoughts again. So she dodged the red-headed man she would later know as the town psychiatrist, Archie, and ducked inside the doors.

Emma had always loved the comfort a book could give her. Being in a world that wasn’t her own was always a considerably desirable place to be. And she had been inside many libraries across many states but this one seemed to immediately just seep inside her and fill a tiny part of her shell of a heart. It was smaller than any library she had been to and there was only one librarian who introduced herself as Belle as soon as she caught sight of Emma. And the quiet surrounded her here, except of course for the tiny voices of the novels on the shelves that seemed to be whispering to her, “Read me, Emma. Read me!”

She began wandering through the shelves and discovered that she felt like they were forming walls around her and Emma was very fond of walls (the emotional ones mostly, but a good, solid set of four walls giving her shelter was something she was extremely grateful for too). So as she plucked a fantasy novel (because she wasn’t kidding about liking to be in other worlds) called _Sailing the Skies_ by a one Killian Jones off of the Library’s “Top Picks” shelf, she felt as if Storybrooke had plucked _her_ right out of her life in Boston for good instead of just for a vacation.

Emma registered for a library card before she actually made the decision to move to Storybrooke for good.

Emma checked out _Sailing the Skies_ before she actually made the decision to move to Storybrooke for good.

Emma asked Belle if she could use another librarian and accepted the job as said librarian before she actually made the decision to move to Storybrooke for good.

She didn’t actually make the decision to move to Storybrooke for good until Belle had asked her, “So, you’ll be staying in town then?” and she couldn’t even fathom answering her inquiry with a “no”.

So, she found a small apartment, quit her bail bonds job, moved all her stuff from her place in Boston, and was working her first shift at the library by the following week. Emma was big on saving up the money she earned because she knew her itch to run usually flared up unexpectedly, so the move wasn’t too difficult. And, she was never someone who needed a lot (growing up in the foster system taught her how to survive on very little) so the money she made at the library was enough for now but she knew it would be a good idea to take the town sheriff up on his part-time job offer (she was just afraid to upset the perfect balance she had going).

The past year had been spent reading almost every book they owned (mostly during her shift, because, okay, the library wasn’t really a hot spot any day) and hanging out with Mary Margaret and David Nolan, her overly but so amazingly friendly neighbors that took her in the minute they saw her carrying her suitcase and boxes from her yellow bug up the stairs to her apartment.

The couple, made up of a tall, broad, blonde man and a petite, pixie-cut brunette woman, was walking hand-in-hand up the sidewalk toward her when David offered to help her and Mary Margaret rushed over to their apartment to begin making a home-cooked meal that Emma was told she must join them for. And even though she didn’t like the idea of people taking care of her, she didn’t have much choice when it came to the Nolans and she had to admit it felt kind of nice to not feel so alone. She wanted to start over, to be a different Emma but old habits die hard. Protecting herself (her heart) was always her first priority.

They were only a few years older than her twenty-eight but they were the type of friends (yes, she let herself accept them as friends, two friends as nice as the Nolans couldn’t hurt, right?) that acted like parents. And since she had never had parents, she liked being fussed over by them but at times it got to be too much and she wished they would just have their own baby already.

It took a while for the town to settle down after Emma’s arrival, mostly because Mary Margaret insisted on parading her around town to meet everyone. But she was finally accepted as a normal part Storybrooke, knew everyone’s name, and she hadn’t seen any new faces since (she understood now, a year later, why she caused such a huge fuss back then).

Until now.

Emma had been so hunched over _Finally Taking to Land_ , the fifth and final installment of the _Sailing the Skies_ series, that her face was only inches away from being pressed against the fresh pages and when the door opened she startled herself almost completely out of her leather desk chair, coming too close to smashing her head through the screen of the library’s ancient computer that sat to her right. Seriously, it had been months since someone had come in on a Friday. Looking towards the doors to see who disrupted her from her designated reading time, Emma experienced what it was like to be a Storybrooker (Storybrookian? What the hell was she supposed to call herself?) seeing a fresh face. And damn, was it a _fresh_ face. 

It was a feat to take her attention away from a _Sailing the Skies_ novel, but this guy achieved it. He was tall and built a little more muscular than David. He was wearing a dark grey henley with the buttons undone, exposing a chest of dark hair, a black and grey flannel hanging loosely over it, tight dark jeans, and clunky black boots. Emma was met with a pair of cool blue eyes under long eyelashes and a flop of almost jet-black hair as the mysterious new man walked past her towards the shelves, throwing her a smirk framed by red-tinged stubble as he went, somehow looking sheepish and confident at the same time.

She diverted her eyes after realizing she was exceptionally slack-jawed. Probably because she hadn’t seen a new face in a year (ok, it was mostly because he was just really hot). Returning to the comfort of her favorite author’s writing, she did her best to ignore the man meticulously exploring the shelves she kept beautifully organized. It was easy falling back into her book, the story action-packed with just a hint of romance and the words feeling like they came from her own mind. She really needed to hunt this guy down and beg him for more books because surly this wouldn’t be enough. The only description the book gave said that he resided in Ireland and used his sailing adventures with his brother as inspiration for his stories but Emma did have a knack for finding people.

She was more than halfway through the book and had just finished chapter fourteen when she allowed herself to check out the man again. He held a stack of four books, but seemed to be looking for something else, something specific, eyes scanning shelves closely, over and over and definitely not finding what he was looking for. She decided to speak up and see if she could help him, it was the least she could do after gawking at him and, of course, it _was_ her job.

“Can I help you find something?” she asked from her seat, re-tucking her long, blonde waves behind her ears and shooting him a friendly smile.

He met her green eyes, walked a few steps toward the desk, and replied with a lilting British accent, “Yes, actually. I know it is a fairly new novel, but would you happen to have _Finally Taking to Land_ by Killian Jones?”

At his reply, Emma’s eyes shot down to her hands where she cradled said book and her cheeks flushed a bit. Meeting his curious gaze, she slowly brought the book up towards her chest, showing him the cover. He flashed her a large grin and she realized the stack of books he was holding were the first four of the series.

“Um, yeah, the copy I ordered for myself hasn’t arrived yet but the library’s copy was delivered today and I couldn’t wait another second to start reading it. We usually aren’t busy on Fridays and I usually never have anyone come in looking for the book I’m reading,” Emma told him.

“Ah, so you’re a fan of the series then?” the man asked her, stepping up to the counter so he was now directly across from it (and making her feel all kinds of flustered). Up close, she glimpsed a tattoo under his rolled-up sleeve, a name that began with an M just barely peeking out.

“Oh, I love it! This author speaks to me. I can’t get enough of him!” She usually didn’t talk about the series to anyone (barely talked to anyone about anything with how private she was), wanting to keep it as her own secret gem but he obviously already knew about it so she felt like she could gush a little bit.

Giving her another smirk, he inquired, “Is that so?”

“Yeah…” Emma replied with a nervous chuckle and reluctantly added, “but, um, if you want to check it out, I can just wait for mine to get here.”

“Oh no, no, no, lass. You go ahead and finish it. You had it first. I’ll check it out when you’re done.”

She let out a small breath of relief.

He had the rest of the books to read first anyways, but Emma still felt a little bad, like she was putting him out. “Well, in all honesty, I’ll be finished by my shift tomorrow morning if you want to come by then and get it. I can get you a card set up now though, seeing as you’re new in town, and you can check out those first four,” she offered.

“That’s very kind, love, but I already have one. And I’m not new in town, I just haven’t lived here in a few years,” he informed Emma, making her flush with embarrassment. _You’re still the new one, Emma._

“Right, sorry. I just moved here a year ago so I’m not quite caught up with all the town history yet,” she said, diverting her eyes to her book. If she tried hard enough, could she jump onto the pages and be sucked into them?

“Well, I should introduce myself then. We’ll catch you up a bit. I’m-”

Before he could reveal his name, Belle was opening the door, distracted by rifling through her purse, and walking towards them in a flowing blue dress and six-inch black heels. Emma absolutely did not understand how that woman dressed like that every day. Emma was more of a dress for comfort type of girl, usually in a sweater, jeans, and her reliable, knee-high brown boots. She and the man watched Belle until she finally reached the desk and looked up. Belle met Emma’s eyes first with a small smile, but when she met the man’s eyes, her whole face was active in grinning with excitement at him. Then she was flinging herself into his arms.

“Killian, you finally made it!” Belle was squealing.

_I’m sorry, did she say Killian? Has to be a coincidence._

“I thought I’d never see Killian Jones back in Storybrooke until you called Monday!” Belle said, pulling back to look at him while she spoke.

_I’m sorry, WHAT?!_ Emma thought, sitting back in her chair to stare at the computer’s keyboard while she wondered what exactly just happened to her. Surly it was just a coincidence. He couldn’t be _that_ Killian Jones, could he?

She was pulled from her thoughts when Belle spoke her name. “Emma, this is Killian Jones. Famous author, too-good-for-Storybrooke, Killian Jones,” she confirmed Emma’s wildest dream and most embarrassing nightmare, nudging Killian (her favorite author that she “can’t get enough of” _ugh she actually said that to him_ ) in the side. “Also, one of my best friends from high school.”

Oh, and Killian was enjoying the situation immensely, his smug grin just shining all over her existence. Holding out his right hand for her to shake, he spoke because obviously she wasn’t going to with her mouth hanging open like it was. “Nice to meet you, Emma..?”

Emma closed her mouth and swallowed once before sitting up and taking his hand. “Swan. Emma Swan. Um, nice to meet you too.” She wouldn’t dare look him in his eyes. How had she not known that she was speaking to her favorite author (and maybe even her favorite person)? But, to be fair there wasn’t a picture of him included in the books or on his fan site she sometimes visited and googling him too extensively made her feel like she was looking for clues to track down a perp so she didn’t do it. Plus, she kind of liked not knowing what he looked like. It left her only with his words to identify him and she was confident that if someone read her a piece of his writing without telling her what it was, she would be able recognize it as Killian’s.

Turning to Belle, he said, “Emma here is reading _Finally Taking to Land_ , so I can only check out the first four today.”

“You’re fond of his series, Emma? Did you know Killian was from here?” Belle asked her.

“I had no idea,” Emma replied and while she pretended not to be freaking out inside, she asked the last question on her mind. Or maybe the first. Somewhere in the middle? She really needed to get ahold of herself. Emma Swan was always in control (except, apparently, when it came to Killian Jones). “Why exactly are you checking out your own books?”

“Well, I used to spend almost every day inside this library as a lad and it is much of the reason I decided to try to make something of my writing. Belle insisted that it would be a nice addition to the books if I were to write a small dedication inside each of them to inspire more of the young readers of Storybrooke,” Killian explained to Emma, scratching behind his ear sheepishly.

“Don’t you think that would be a cool idea, Emma?” Belle wondered.

“Yeah, that sounds awesome,” Emma tried to sound enthusiastic, but was sure her voice sounded as stiff as cardboard, saying what she should say instead of shrieking.

Belle noticed. “Emma, are you alright? You seem off. You can head home for the night if you want. I was going to stay here and catch up with Killian and then close up.”

Usually when Belle offered to let her off early, Emma refused but she really just wanted to go home and regroup. It wasn’t often that Emma was taken so off guard and she hated how she was feeling right now. This wasn’t how she had imagined meeting the man and it was a little upsetting (but it wasn’t totally terrible).

“Uh, yeah okay,” she agreed while gathering her phone and book from the desk, sticking her post-it note grocery list inside the pages to hold her spot. Braving one last look at Killian as she walked out from behind the desk, she told him, “I’ll bring this for you tomorrow morning,” gesturing toward the book in her right hand.

And of course, he didn’t miss the opportunity to show her another one of his smirks, this one paired with a waggling eyebrow and said, “Looking forward to it, Swan.”

With a half-assed attempt at “see you tomorrow”, she shot a mumbled “seeyamorrow” towards Belle and was throwing herself out the door and down the sidewalk to her yellow bug.

* * *

Mary Margaret and David had her over every Friday night for dinner so when Emma got home, she focused all of her energy on changing into comfier clothes and tossing together the salad she promised she’d bring so she wouldn’t have to think about the awful encounter she had with the person closest to what could be considered her celebrity crush. But, often, trying not to think about something only makes you think about it harder.

The thing that most bothered her about her meeting with Killian Jones is that she was caught off guard. Emma did her best to shelter herself from anything that could shake her up so the fact that she didn’t recognize someone who was so important to her made her feel stupid. She hated feeling stupid (mostly because it reminded her of the naivety she possessed when she thought Neal would actually stick around and not, you know, throw her under the bus for his crimes).

And what made it worse was that Killian was there to witness her being caught off guard and now that she thought about it, he had sort of egged her on with his probing question about whether she enjoyed the series that _he wrote._

So, no, Emma was not going to feel embarrassed or shocked anymore. She was going to board her walls back up and be angry because it wasn’t her fault Killian Jones decided not to include a picture in his book and it wasn’t her fault that no one told her he used to live in Storybrooke.

She was stewing by the time she made it up the flight of stairs to the Nolan loft, white knuckling the neck of a wine bottle and balancing the salad bowl between her chest and arm as she knocked on the door with her free hand. She could hear David’s booming laughter trailing closer and as soon as he opened to door, she charged in and started in on him (she was good at taking her anger out on others).

“Hey, why the hell didn’t you tell me my favorite author used to live here?” Setting the wine and salad on the kitchen counter, she turned around to face him and vaguely wondered why Mary Margaret wasn’t fussing over the lasagna she could smell in the oven. David coughed and darted his eyes toward the living room in a suspicious manner. When she followed his gaze, she found out why. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Catching her off guard again, Killian Jones made his way into the dining room, followed by David’s wife. He had a weird twinkle in his eye like he couldn’t believe his luck. Yeah, well, she couldn’t believe hers either.

“Emma, this is Killi-,” Mary Margaret started before Emma cut her off.

“Yeah, yeah, I know who he is.” She waved her hand around and watched as Killian’s grin tipped down a bit at her lack of happiness to see him again.

“Nice to see you again too, love,” was his response, smirk sliding back onto his face.

David cut in, wondering how they knew each other. “So, you two have met?”

“Just a couple of hours ago at the library. I stumbled upon her enjoying my newest novel actually.”

“And he kindly let me believe I was talking to a complete stranger and not the author of the book I was reading,” Shooting him a fake grin, she crossed her arms and assumed her defense pose. She wasn’t really angry; she was just annoyed with this day.

“Well to be fair, even though I wrote the book you were reading, I was still a complete stranger.”

What he replied irked her because he just genuinely didn’t feel like a stranger, not after all the things she read in his books made her feel like somebody finally understood her. But he was right. She didn’t really know him and maybe it was better that way anyways. Emma could feel her face turning red and was about to tell him just how much she wished he _was_ a stranger (if only to push him away) when the oven timer beeped and Mary Margaret dashed between them towards the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready!” Emma heard her cheerful announcement and she slumped down at her usual seat at the table.

* * *

As everyone dished up their plates, Emma wondered how Killian and the Nolans met, but made the definitive decision not to ask. Besides, David and Mary Margaret invited everyone to dinner no matter what, practically the King and Queen of Storybrooke.

“So, Killian, have you been back to the old house yet?” Mary Margaret was the first to speak once everyone had filled their plates. Emma and David took simultaneous first bites of their breadsticks (always more of the _eat first, talk later_ kind of people).

“I dropped my luggage off when I first got to town but didn’t stick around for long. Felt really lonely without Liam.” Killian’s voice took on a sad tone and Emma felt implored to look across the table at him. He was looking down at his plate and flicking lettuce around with his fork. She wondered who Liam was but didn’t ask. She could always ask David later.

“Well I’m sure it will get better once you get all your stuff moved in.” Her friend’s statement was followed by a reassuring pat to Killian’s arm.

_Oh God, he was moving here and not just visiting?_ Emma could feel his gaze on her like he was gauging her reaction. She promptly shoved a large bite of lasagna in her mouth and avoided eye contact.

“Emma, Killian owns that house down by the docks with the big porch and the picket fence. Do you know the one?” Oh, Emma, knew exactly the house she was talking about. She loved that house. It was basically the epitome of the home she used to dream about having as a kid. Sometimes when she walked past it, she’d stop and lean against the fence and wonder why whoever owned it wasn’t enjoying it. She’d even thought about using her old lock picks to sneak inside and experience living in it for a night but she wasn’t sure if there were any alarms (it was a pretty large house) and she didn’t want to have to explain to David what she was doing when he showed up in his police car. Emma didn’t share any of this, only nodded while she continued to chew.

Seeing she wasn’t getting anywhere with Emma, Mary Margaret switched her attention back to Killian, who had just begun to eat. David’s plate was halfway empty and Emma wondered how Mary Margaret always ended dinner with an empty plate with all the talking she did.

“Tell us about Ireland!” Begrudgingly, Emma slowed her eating to listen. She was interested in hearing what it was like to visit another country, had always wanted to go on that adventure.

So, Killian regaled them with stories about visiting his cousins, Will and Robin (he seemed exasperated explaining how he had to drag Will out of a bar after he tried to start a fight with a man twice his size and got punched by the man’s girlfriend instead), and about travelling through different towns (she could see how much he loved experiencing new places and meeting different people through the faraway wonder that took over his eyes) and it turned out his author’s description wasn’t completely accurate because it seemed he spent at least half the time he was in Ireland sailing rather than living anywhere. And all the while, Killian wrote a five-book series. She couldn’t imagine writing five books in six years (he seemed completely taken aback when she actually opened her mouth to ask him how long he was in Ireland) but she supposed he had a lot of experiences to draw upon. If she wrote a book, it would probably just be super angsty with a lot of people getting punched in the face for not-good-enough reasons, far from the beautiful world he created.

By the time he wrapped up his final story of the night, Emma found she hadn’t eaten much more of her food but was instead enraptured by his words, her head propped up on her hands with her elbows on the table. It seemed she could get just as lost in his spoken words as his written ones. She took a few more bites before David could stand up and begin collecting plates but didn’t need much more to fill her belly as she already felt full on the wistful feeling Killian’s voice wove into her.

“Have you thought anymore about taking that job at the station?” David asked her as he gathered up their wine glasses. Killian’s eyebrow was so expressive she could see it quirk up from the corner of her eye as she looked up at her friend.

“Are you really sure you want a former cri-,” Emma stopped herself, remembering the presence of the man across from her. “Are you really sure you want _me_ working for you?”

“I wouldn’t have offered you the job if I didn’t.” David gave her shoulder a squeeze as he walked to the kitchen. “I think it would be really great for you and with a lot of opportunity for promotion.”

That was her problem. The job would start with her just filing and dealing with calls but she knew David didn’t plan to let her stay in that position for long. He wanted her to train to become a deputy (they’d spoken about her past and he mentioned that it might be a gratifying role for her to step into) (she couldn’t disagree) and while thinking about that made Emma feel excited at the prospect of feeling purposeful, it was the feeling of permanence that held her back. She didn’t want to work towards such an important role only to run away when she got it. She knew she needed to give David an answer soon (he’d been bugging her for three weeks) but every time her mouth formed the word “yes”, her doubts wouldn’t let her push it out.

“Um… I think… Just give me a little more time.” Turns out Emma Swan was stubborn even when she didn’t want to be. She gave David her best reassuring smile.

“Of course.”

Mary Margaret followed her husband into the kitchen with the salad bowl, knowing not to start into Emma about the job (knowing the prodding only made her shut down more). Left alone with only Killian’s curious gaze as company, she began to rise from her seat and make a lame excuse about having to use the bathroom but before she could open her mouth, Killian was reaching across the table to lie his hand atop hers, his blue eyes searching to meet her green ones.

“Swan, I’m truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable during our first meeting. I simply wanted to know how a reader of the series, such as yourself, felt about the books objectively, without feeling like they had to be nice just because they were speaking to the person who wrote it. I never intended any harm.” She found honesty in his face and looked down at his hand covering hers, not minding it much.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I was just embarrassed. You should know that I really do enjoy your books. You’re an incredible author.” Her praise caused him to scratch nervously behind his ear. Emma wanted to tell him about the peace his writing brought her, about the way she sometimes felt he’d plucked some of his words right out of her brain, about how she sometimes wished she grew up inside his books where she could have felt the freedom of the wind flowing through her hair as she explored the world on a magical ship. But all those thoughts were a little too personal and when she met his eyes again, he almost looked as if he already knew.

And because she knew she’d already forgiven him (hadn’t even been truly angry with him because he was a _stranger_ ) Emma slipped her hand out from underneath his and held it out for a shake. “How about we start over? I’m Emma Swan, an avid reader of yours.”

Her favorite author grinned and placed his hand in hers. “A pleasure to meet you, Swan. Killian Jones.” And because the moment felt too fragile to end it, she allowed her hand to linger in his. That is, until David interrupted.

“You know, I did tell you about Killian living here. But now that I’m thinking about it, you were pretty wrapped up in reading one of those books and probably weren’t paying much attention to me. I think the only response I got was a ‘huh’ and a page turn,” David informed her with a knowing smile. Emma felt heat rush to her cheeks and Killian waggled his eyebrows at her, causing her to chuckle.

“Okay, we get it, I’m a crazy fangirl! You probably shouldn’t have let Mary Margaret tell me where you live because I’ll probably show up at your house at 2 in the morning demanding more books!” She threw up her hands and headed for the sink to help Mary Margaret with the dishes.

“Darling, you don’t need to use the pretense of wanting more books to ask for my company in the early hours of the morning.” Emma looked over her shoulder in time to see his over-exaggerated wink and David punching his arm with a “hey, watch it!” (ever the big brother figure).

* * *

After finishing the dishes (it was almost uncomfortable with Mary Margaret smiling so hard at her like she knew something about Emma that she didn’t, which she usually did), Emma grabbed her empty salad bowl and went to hug David goodbye where he and Killian were seated at the kitchen island looking through pictures on Killian’s phone. She hugged his wife next and was left to say goodbye to Killian.

He shuffled to his feet and tugged at his red-tinged ear. “Would you allow me to escort you home, Emma?” If it was a further walk, she probably would have said no but it was only down a flight of stairs and obviously on his way.

“Sure,” Emma affirmed and took the lead after he opened the door, both calling farewells over their shoulders. They took to the stairs and by the time he had decided what he wanted to say to her, they had reached her floor. To be fair, Emma did try to keep her steps slow.

“Well, thanks for walking me home,” she told him, turning towards him to smile graciously.

“Wait, you live here?” He seemed disappointed. Had he wanted to spend more time with her? Then she recalled him saying his house seemed lonely. He probably just wanted to spend as little time as possible there.

“Yeah, it’s how I met Mary Margaret and David actually.”

“Well, Swan, it was lovely seeing you again. I’ll see you at the library in the morning?”

As Killian turned to leave, she caught his arm. She knew what a lonely house felt like and didn’t see a reason why she couldn’t offer him a small reprieve (though a part of her brain was shouting a million reasons at her why she shouldn’t), especially since she’d acted a little unfairly towards him earlier.

“Do you want to come in for a cup of hot cocoa before you go? We could even spike it if you want.” His smile caused dimples to crease his stubble.

“I’d love to.”

* * *

And so Emma went to work on the hot chocolate (which she would have drank whether Killian was here or not) while he explored her apartment and if he noticed there were very few personal items and pictures, he didn’t comment on it (she had a feeling he understood). When she finished, she placed the two mismatched mugs on the counter and held up a bottle of rum towards him in question. He nodded and she poured a bit in each cup then topped them with whipped cream and cinnamon.

“Just try it. It’s good,” she said at his questioning eyebrow. His tentative sip caused some of the whipped topping to get caught in the stubble of his upper lip and she felt the urge to wipe it away with her thumb as his tongue darted out to get it and at that thought, she swiftly turned on her heel to go sit on the couch. “Good, right?”

“Too right, Swan.” Killian took the opposite end of her couch and smiled thoughtfully when he spotted _Finally Taking to Land_ resting on her coffee table, the neon orange post-it jutting out of the pages and revealing she only had about a quarter of the book left to read.

“What made you start writing?” Even though it kind of felt like she was just talking to a regular man she’d just met, this _was_ her favorite author so she had to pick his brain a little bit and the memories her question brought forth in his mind caused him to look both sad and happy at the same time.

“My mother used to tell my older brother and me stories when she put us to bed. Each night was a completely new story she’d create. I was too young to remember much but after she passed, Liam picked it up for me. It was the only way I was able to fall asleep. Writing seemed like a way I could grant that solace to someone else.” He smiled knowingly at her at his last sentence.

“You know, the first book I ever read and enjoyed was _Peter Pan_. That’s probably why I’m such a fan of _Sailing the Skies_. It reminded me of one of the few happy moments of my childhood. It was the first time a foster parent had ever given me a gift and even better, it was something they thought I’d like. I still have it on the bookshelf in my room.” With a shrug, Emma tried to brush off the fact that she so easily shared something personal with him.

Killian’s face was open and he was leaned forward, interested in what she was telling him, like he really cared and she could see he did. It made her want to shovel the words up with her hands and cram them back into her mouth. She switched to a lighter topic. The subject of parents reminded her of the inkling she had about Mary Margaret (The woman had drunk water the past two Fridays at dinner even when Emma specifically brought her favorite wine and gave her shifty eyes when Emma commented on it)

“So, have you known Mary Margaret and David your whole life?” Killian sat back, acknowledging that that was the deepest personal information he would be receiving from her this evening.

“Erm, no. I was born in London and lived there until I was thirteen. By then, Liam was old enough to become my guardian and he moved us to America. More specifically, Storybrooke. Our father owned the house down by the docks and left it to us after he passed,” Killian informed her and she was sure she heard him add, “The only good thing he did for us,” under his breath. “David was in my class in school and I was pretty angry with the world, never particularly wanting to take part in Storybrooke festivities. I’m sure you know how they are.” Emma smiled knowingly, rolling her eyes. “But David kept pestering me about it, trying to take me under his wing. He eventually went to my older brother and then I just didn’t have a choice. So, I went and surprisingly had a good time. Been best friends ever since. No one has ever cared for me like David does except Liam.” He was smiling fondly, staring at a spot above her right shoulder like he was only just realizing the truth of his final statement.

“Yeah, David’s a good guy. I experienced the pestering too. Only mine mostly came from Mary Margaret. But now they’re like the older siblings I never had.” Emma twirled her finger around the rim of her mug, she too having a realization about just how much she’d allowed these two people to come to mean to her. A silence eased in and settled over them for a few moments and it was enough for the rum to catch up with her.

 A yawn overtook her (she’d finished her hot cocoa and the spiked drink made her feel sleepy) and as her eyes caught on the object on her coffee table, an idea came to her (seriously that rum was in full effect, it was the only excuse for what came out of her mouth next).

“Would it be weird if I asked you to read your book to me?”

Killian’s breath seemed to catch at the idea but he obliged, swiping the book off of the table and settling in to read. Nothing else needed to be spoken except the lines of his fantastical story as it slowly flowed towards its final chapters.

“ _Charlie knew that the Captain was expecting him below deck but he couldn’t bear to pull his gaze from the way the sun was sparkling across the water that day. It seemed too beautiful to exist on a day that was sure to be filled with such danger. But that thought only gave him more reason to reach out his hand and let it run through the mist, the water droplets sticking to his fingers the same way the hope he had to soon find Layna stuck to his heart,”_ he began to read. Emma closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the couch, allowing herself to drift away on his voice, into his story.

* * *

When she woke, Killian was gone but her book was returned to its place (the bookmark placed even closer to the end) and there was a blanket lying across her. Emma decided she should probably move to her bed but when she collapsed onto her fluffy mattress, she struggled to fall back asleep which caused her to wonder if, like Killian, she would never be able to fall asleep without the lull of his voice as he told her a story there to pull her under.

And that thought kept her awake for a whole other terrifying reason.

* * *

After dozing in and out of consciousness for a few hours, Emma accepted her fate and lugged her body out of bed at 5 am. Her Saturday morning shift began at eight so she would have just enough time to get ready and finish the last bit of her book before going in.

She had just taken a long pull of her coffee when she read the last sentence left in the series, “ _And though the skies definitely had their appeal, land could be home too when you walked it with the right people,”_ the drink and a sense of deep satisfaction warming her belly.

And while she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from expressing her gratitude for such a perfect ending to Killian, Emma resigned herself to pushing him away. Last night couldn’t happen again. She’d seen too much of herself in him, felt too akin to the abandonment she’d seen in his eyes when he mentioned his father.

She picked up the book and gave it a little squeeze against her chest (as she tended to do when she finished a particularly good book), gathering her keys and leaving with enough spare time to stop at Granny’s for a bear claw to eat on the way.

* * *

Killian was already standing at the reception desk deep in conversation with Belle when Emma arrived, like he’d been there as early as Belle had (he must’ve really disliked being alone in that house). However, when he heard the clattering of the door opening, his gaze shot towards her almost as if he’d been anxiously waiting for someone to get there and when she saw an excited smile form in that stubble of his, she knew it was her.

Belle noticed too. With a mischievous look, she took off towards her office, telling Killian, “We’ll finish up this conversation later.” He didn’t seem too phased by her departure or the abrupt halt he put to their conversation, already drawing closer to Emma as she made her way to the desk, rubbing her eyes as she went (coffee and a sugary donut couldn’t even cure the effects of her insomnia).

“Good morning, Swan. Late night?” Guess he noticed her tiredness too. “Did a certain dashing rapscallion keep you up last night?” He smirked and leaned his elbows onto the desk in front of her, simultaneously raising his eyebrow. “I’m speaking of Charlie, of course.”

Emma rolled her eyes. _Charlie, her ass._ “Right.” She quickly shuffled through her bag for the library’s copy of _Finally Taking to Land,_ just wanting to get this over with before she did something stupid like flirt back with him. Handing him the book, she recited the speech she’d practiced on the way there. “I finished it this morning. And the ending was perfect, everything I could have hoped for. I just wanted to say thank you for writing this story and ending it on a hopeful note because I connected to it in a way I’ve never connected to anything before. And it was great meeting my favorite author.”

He looked adorably humble and confused as the words rapidly spewed from her lips and then downright baffled when she immediately turned on her heel and left him there to put away the books delivered from the elementary school (and to quickly shut down any idea he had about whatever it was they had going further).

“Erm, that’s it?” Killian asked as he followed her to the biography shelves.

“What, do you want me to ask for a signed copy too?” Emma began shoveling books into their correct spots.

“No, though I’d be happy to give you one, I meant that’s all there is between you and I?”

“Do you attempt to form personal relationships with all of your readers because that seems a little high-main---“

“Of course not! Honestly, I don’t even meet many of them. But last night didn’t feel like I was just being polite to a fan. It felt like I was forming a connection with Emma Swan, a woman who happens to also like my writing.” She could hear the frustration in his voice but she still didn’t look at him.

“Well that’s not what it was for me.” She really hated lying but she hated heartbreak more.

“I don’t believe that. I just think you’ve suffered abandonment too many times and you’re pushing me away because I’ve already snuck my way past a few of those walls of yours.” At this, Emma whipped her head around with a furrowed brow, furious he’d figured her out so easily. He gave her a sad smile, those ocean eyes showing no pity, just understanding. “You’re an open book to me, love.”

She couldn’t help the snort she let out despite her anger. He was just too good at putting her at ease. “Cute metaphor choice.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Emma.” She fingered a peeling label on the spine of a book in front of her.

“I can’t know that for sure.” He already knew he’d figured her out, there was no sense in trying to deny it. With a small step closer, Killian drew her gaze to his so she could see the honesty on his face.

“Try something new darling. It’s called trust.” She stepped back. Trust would have to be built up to. He sensed this and took on a lighter tone. “Oh, and when I said I wasn’t going anywhere, I meant it literally. It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to sit down and read something I hadn’t slaved over. I’d like to return to my old haven. If it didn’t bother you, of course.” His sincerity just tugged and tugged at her.

“It’s a public library.” Her reliance on sarcasm tugged and tugged at her too.

“Indeed.” This time he was the one to turn and leave, giving her some much-needed space.

Emma opened up the next book in her bucket and leafed through the pages, their musty smell wafting up to her nostrils and giving her a sense of calm but her heart stuttered when she heard Killian’s booming laughter coming from the direction of Belle’s office.

She stuck her nose right into the binding of it and inhaled deeply.

( _Can you get high off of book smell?)_

* * *

And so for the following two weeks Killian was in every day for most of the day. He mostly sat and read in one of the old cushioned chairs they had interspersed through the space, the ugly orange looking putrid against his dark clothing.

But sometimes he’d ask her seemingly harmless questions relevant to the books he’d come across while she worked, taking any bit of herself she would offer him. And without her being aware of it, Emma shared things with him she never meant to.

But he shared just as much as she did. Always keeping them on equal ground.

“This was my favorite as a boy. Did you read it?”

(No, she hadn’t really gotten into reading until that _Peter Pan_ novel she’d told him about.)

“I hear this new murder-mystery is supposed to be addicting. Might be good research for the job David is offering you.”

(She still hadn’t decided if she was taking it or not.)

(Liam used to be a deputy. He loved the work he did.)

“Do you fancy romance novels, Swan?”

(Not the particularly mushy gushy ones. Too unrealistic.)

(Surly a little romance couldn’t be all that bad. You just have to find the right person.)

(Weren’t we talking about fictional romance?)

“Please tell me you at least read _The Ugly Duckling_ as a child, what with the name and all.”

(It was actually where she had chosen the name Swan. A boy she’d met on the streets had reminded her that she didn’t have to be the ugly duckling forever, urging her to return to her group home.)

(Sometimes he wished he could have taken his mother’s maiden name so he didn’t have that connection to his father who abandoned them when he was only six and shortly before his mother passed from the sickness she’d been fighting for years.)

“If you could only choose one book to read for the rest of your life, which would you choose?”

(Like he didn’t know she’d pick _Sailing the Skies_.)

(His would probably be the book of fairytales Mary Margaret bought him for graduation.)

“This one’s about travelling. Have you ever been out of the country?”

(The only travelling she could manage was state to state but she’d been all over the U.S. She would love to go overseas somewhere though.)

(He did have a boat she was welcome to come take a spin on. Wasn’t quite overseas but it was _over_ the sea.)

“’A gripping tale loaded with betrayal and surprises that will leave you questioning every thought you had about these characters.’ Sounds interesting, eh Swan?”

(She’d already had her fair share of betrayal. She didn’t need to read about it too.)

(He’d learned surprises weren’t so great either.)

And when he travelled the shelves with her on that last Friday afternoon, an opportunity arose that she could tell he’d probably been anxiously waiting for. The wheels of her book trolley squeaked as she pulled it to a stop at the farthest corner of the library where they stored old yearbooks and copies of their local newspaper, _Storybrooke Daily Mirror._ Someone had browsed a yearbook from 1992 and left it in their chair. She couldn’t really blame them. She avoided this spot as much as she could too and she’d seen the young couple that had shuffled off to this area earlier in the day.

She was squatted down trying to see the numbers on the spines on a lower shelf through the dim lighting (something wasn’t right with the wiring of the light fixture in this section so changing the bulb never made it brighter), when Killian leaned against a higher shelf in a nonchalant manner and tried his luck.

“You know, this used to be the secret make out spot for kids when I was in school.” After placing the yearbook in the correct spot, Emma looked up at him to find him suspiciously not making eye-contact, choosing instead to glare at the light like it offended him for not shining as bright as the others.

She stood up, her right hand going to the handle of the now empty cart. “Trust me, it still is. This is the least visited, least visible spot, and Belle and I still seem to catch them every single time.” The last time it’d happened, a girl’s shirt was halfway undone and her partner’s lips were pressed to her neck. She’d only given a gruff, “Out!” and stared at the floor until they’d fixed themselves up enough to rush toward the exit. She didn’t understand the appeal when they could be using a car or hell, even a bedroom (she knew from experience how sneaky a kid with strict guardians could be) instead of the creepiest corner of the local library where they were likely to be caught by an elderly person or innocent kid.

Killian’s gaze swept to hers, connecting intently. “Well perhaps they’re just too young to use it correctly. Maybe it takes a pair who are a little more… experienced,” he pondered and pushed off the shelf, leading with his hips to take a step toward her. The volume of his voice went lower as he leaned his head closer to hers and issued a challenge. “Care to test the theory?”

It was then that Emma finally understood the desire to kiss someone in this little nook. The narrow shelves and darkness made her feel like she was already pressed completely up against him. And she felt such a powerful intimacy with the shadows casting over their faces, like no one could possibly exist in this dark place but them. Usually this intense a feeling would have her sprinting for the nearest door, knocking things over in her wake so she couldn’t be followed but the comforting smell of the pages around her (and maybe even the comforting smell of Killian’s leather jacket and musk) only had her wanting to bury her feet in the floor she stood upon.

But she also couldn’t let him know that. Emma flexed the fingers that itched to run through his hair while she thought about who would surge forward first. “So you’re saying you’re experienced enough to handle it?” Her heart thumped wildly when she saw his tongue flick out to wet his lips.

“I’m willing to let you be the judge of that. Are _you_ experienced enough to handle it?” Killian popped his final “t” and waited for her to make the move. It made her grow even fonder of him, knowing he’d always let her set the pace, knowing he was always aware of how far he should push.

Her hands grabbed at him before her mouth could catch up (like if she had him in her grasp before she kissed him she wouldn’t allow herself to let go of what they had between them so easily when the kiss ended), one at his lapel and the other gripping at the soft strands of inky hair on the back of his head. Emma felt his harsh exhale against her lips before she was kissing him.

At first he was completely pliant under her ministrations, letting her lead in every movement, the tilt of their heads, the opening of their lips, but as soon as she began to let up to take in some air, he was pushing back and taking his turn. She allowed him to walk her towards the wall and press her back gently against it, allowed him the control for a little while.

Killian’s fingers lightly threaded through her blonde tresses and her heart soured right up and over its walls. Because while the slide of their lips was passionate and the exhales of their breaths were rough and the thumping in their chests was practically audible, Emma had never felt safer than she did crammed back in this dark, secluded alcove with her entire body pressed against the man she’d felt more kindred to than anyone else she’d met in her life. Usually a thought like that would shock her straight to her core, but maybe this shrouded moment deflected feelings like that or, more likely, she’d changed by coming to this town, laying down her guns, picking up his book. Killian made her better without even seeing her face.

Words have the power to change you, and they don’t have to be spoken to do it.

But then the faulty light dimmed lower (as it often did) and the shift woke her brain up enough for her to remember that whatever they did back here was something she’d have to face in the light of day and if she took it much further, she might find herself avoiding that responsibility completely.

When she pulled back for air, he shifted on his feet to chase her lips again but bumped the cart, causing it to let out an obnoxious squawk (the old rusty thing was like a century old) and she pressed her palms flat against his chest to put more space between them (and stop herself from diving back in). In a sweet, gentle manner Killian pressed his forehead against hers like he would have been more than happy with this kind of touch too if she hadn’t granted him a kiss.

“That was-,” he began.

“Probably pushing our luck,” she finished as she stepped around him and reached for the cart, noticing her hand was beginning to shake a little. Apparently, that dark corner _was_ keeping out at least some of her panic because the more steps she took toward the brighter front of the building, the faster her pace became (and she was thankful returning that book was her last task of the day so she could go home). He still hadn’t moved though. It was predictable. Killian was always the one steadily there while Emma was too flighty to stay in place.

Right before she could turn the corner and make for the door, he quietly called out to her. “Well we didn’t get caught, Swan. Guess we handled it pretty well.” She could tell he was trying to make the situation feel lighter and get her to stay but she knew there was no changing the intensity of the incomparable weight that moment had held and by the breathlessness of his voice, he knew it too. But Emma still didn’t stop her gate, that is, until she’d stepped around the shelf and ran right into Belle, watching the woman take in her appearance which she was sure included rosy cheeks, swollen lips, and messy hair. Belle raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, “ _Seriously, you too?”._

And to make the situation worse, Killian, who either thought he’d given her enough time to make her escape or decided to chase after her, rushed up behind her and came to an abrupt halt. Her boss smiled cheekily at the pair but before she could say a word, Emma was on the move again, immaturely deciding to let Killian deal with the woman. Now someone else knew that they had kissed and she still couldn’t even deal with the fact that she _herself_ knew.

Turned out, Killian was wrong on both counts. They _did_ get caught and she apparently _couldn’t_ handle it (and she suspected he couldn’t either).

* * *

 She accepted David’s job offer that night if only so she would spend less time with the man who’d become pretty talented at chiseling away at her walls. But also because her future felt more grounded in Storybrooke now than ever before (and she didn’t let herself dwell on why that was).

(The tiny part of her brain that wasn’t too afraid to make itself aware of the things that were hard to accept recognized the irony of simultaneously distancing herself from Killian and essentially solidifying a future that was likely to have him in it.)

Emma hadn’t even planned on saying yes. She opened her mouth expecting to hear her usual excuses and then the affirmative just slipped right off her tongue. But when it was out, she finally felt right. She was upsetting the easy routine that was her life in Storybrooke but it didn’t feel as scary anymore (perhaps because Killian had already upset it and it hadn’t turned out so bad… at least not yet). Feeling excited at the prospect of change wasn’t something she was familiar with, the only changes in her life before being born out of fear.

Her married friends broke out in big grins, David exclaiming, “You’ll start on Monday!” (which will probably be fine since she’d informed Belle of this possibility a couple weeks ago and her boss had someone on the wings to start part-time) and Mary Margaret getting excited enough to ask David if they could share their big news too.

“I’m pregnant!” Mary Margaret confirmed Emma’s previous suspicions after getting David’s approval. “We’re waiting to tell everyone but with you accepting David’s offer, it just felt like you were saying yes to being a part of our family too. Sorry, that probably doesn’t make any sense and is totally sappy but-,” she took a breath, wiping at her teary eyes and was interrupted by Emma’s hug before she could continue.

Mary Margaret had told her she felt like Emma was family and while she was very excited by the couple’s baby news, this news held even more meaning to her. “I’m so happy!” she said and, for the first time in her life, really meant it.

(And then David ruined the moment by making some lame joke about the baby calling her “Auntie Em” like in _The_ _Wizard of Oz_.)

(He was going to be a really good dad.)

* * *

As she walked the stairs back down to her apartment, she debated whether or not she should walk to Killian’s house to tell him she took the job but she was too afraid to make it into a huge deal, too afraid she’d psych herself out about it.

When she reached the last stair, she unlocked her door and then locked it (and something else) right back up behind her.

* * *

Unable to sleep that night (she hadn’t slept all that well since that night with Killian), she ran her eyes across the small shelf that that held all of her favorite books, stopping on his and thinking about the fact that she’d kissed the man that had written them. But the _Killian Jones_ on the spines didn’t feel like the same _Killian Jones_ emblazoning its way across her heart.

And yet it did.

* * *

Emma knew that her decision to not tell Killian upset him because on Monday when David walked her past Graham (Storybrooke’s only deputy) to her own desk (nameplate and all), she found a to-go cup from Granny’s (she deducted it as hot chocolate after a sniff), a single pink flower, and a small card that read, ‘ _Belle told me the good news. I’m glad you decided to take the job and I’m proud of you, Swan. You’ll be great,’_ lying atop it right in the center.

And while that might not have sounded like something an upset person would have done, Emma knew that if Killian wasn’t at least a little disappointed, he probably would have shown right up to her door to congratulate her in person with the hot chocolate and flower.

Belle had given her the weekend off as a little rest before they began the new schedule on Monday (an older lady who wanted something to occupy her time would take the morning shift and then Emma would take the afternoon after she finished at the station) (she wasn’t ready to fully let go of her daily refuge yet) so Killian must have gone in on Saturday expecting to see her and received the news from Belle instead.

But she didn’t have time to worry about how she’d made Killian feel because David was excitedly pulling files out of cabinets and showing her how to log them into the station’s new computer system. And she was tap tap tapping away on the clunky keyboard on her desk and answering calls from Leroy about a missing garden hose.

So she couldn’t switch her focus back to the man until she’d clocked out, left the building, and caught sight of him from down the road leaving the library and heading towards the docks.

Emma thought maybe she would have apologized to him with the excuse that it was such a small deal that she didn’t want to make a fuss about it but now she’d seen that he still went to the library (which she was glad about, didn’t want to be the only reason he had gone) and had left just before she was due to be there.

Killian was really avoiding her. And even though she had done the same to him first, it still felt like a betrayal, like it wasn’t hard to let what they had go, let _her_ go.

Her heart was just wired like that.

* * *

Working in the library that day didn’t feel as comforting as it once did.

* * *

After that, she didn’t see him for a couple of weeks, but she knew he was still around, knew he had opportunities to visit her but chose not to because she’d see him walking to or from the library with the collar of his leather jacket pulled up to ward off the wind and David sometimes walked her out of the building at the end of her shift with plans to go meet Killian for lunch.

She would wonder why he wouldn’t just bring lunch to the station and eat with David in his office like Mary Margaret sometimes did. Figured it was probably because of her. If he couldn’t even bear to see her for a minute at the beginning of her shift at the library, why would he have gone to the station?

Either she was hiding her emotions well or Mary Margaret and David were too wrapped up in their happy secret that they didn’t notice that something wasn’t right with her because they never said anything.

Emma barely stopped thinking about their kiss. She swore her lips still tingled a little bit if she thought about it hard enough.

(Most of the time she tricked herself into believing it was better this way, better for the stability of the life she’d built here, better for the protection of her heart and other times, well… let’s just say she started rereading his series at night to feel closer to him again and she hated herself a little bit for it.)

It wasn’t until she finally unstuck the bottom drawer of her desk and found a picture of a teenage-looking Killian and a man with his same blue eyes and a couple years on him that she realized she sat at Liam Jones’ former desk and that it was probably pretty painful for Killian to walk in here and not find his brother.

And it wasn’t until she was reshelving a book about ship repair that she found out Killian hadn’t been in the library in the afternoons because he’d gotten a job down at the shipyard that same weekend she’d taken David’s job offer.

(“Killian needed to brush up on a couple repairs this morning. I think he missed working on the ships,” Belle had said and, at Emma’s confused look, added, “Didn’t he tell you he had gotten his old job back at the shipyard? I thought he was going to see you on that Saturday you had off.”)

So he hadn’t told her about his job because she hadn’t told him about hers. But it still hurt that he just let her believe he didn’t want to see her. And yet she knew he still cared because if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have sent her that flower and note. Except, she had only assumed those things were from him because the sender would have addressed her as ‘ _Swan_ ’. It hadn’t been signed ‘ _Killian’._ At least she didn’t _think_ so.

When she got home, Emma flipped open _Sailing the Skies_ (where she’d stashed the card for safe keeping) to inspect it and found that no, it _hadn’t_ been signed but then she flipped it over and gave herself a big old facepalm. She hadn’t realized he had finished his note on the back, hadn’t realized the punctuation after “You’ll be great” was a comma and not a period.

The back of the card read, _‘I’m sure of it. I’m sorry we won’t see as much of each other, as I’ve gotten a job down at the shipyard in the afternoons. But here’s my number and you know where I live. Killian.’_

So it was all some huge misunderstanding and he probably thought she was avoiding him as much as she thought he was avoiding her.

And yet she still didn’t go see him, still didn’t call him even though she had his number now.

She was too afraid she had hurt him, that he wouldn’t _want_ to see her after all this time.

* * *

It wasn’t until his fan site sent her that article (she’d forgotten she’d subscribed, the last time they’d sent her something was to announce the release of _Finally Taking to Land_ ) that she went to see him.

Killian had begun to feel like just her favorite author again, like those two weeks were just some fantasy she had dreamt up.

But after reading that article, she remembered that he was an author she could yell at, that he was a man she knew personally who hadn’t told her this incredible news.

It was 1:30 am on a Thursday when she’d thrown on a sweater over her sweatshirt and leggings and stomped her way down to his house, forgetting she had a car she could have driven in her haste. But she thought it was worth warding off the early spring chill to hear the angry clacks her flip flops made on the sidewalk.

When she reached Killian’s fence she’d thrown her shoulders back and walked confidently up the stairs of his wraparound porch and just as she’d been about to bring her hand down into a hard pound on his door, his voice cut through the night.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Swan?” Emma whipped her head to the right and found him gently swaying in the center of his porch swing. He was barefoot and wearing loose sweatpants and an oversized long-sleeved t-shirt (in his usual dark color scheme), balancing a beer on his knee, and he would look totally relaxed if not for the look on his face, a look that made him seem like he was desperately holding himself back from hoping.

She almost lost her nerve at that look but caught herself. “ _Sailing the Skies_ is being adapted into a movie?” Her voice was loud enough to cause the crickets to halt their chirping.

“Ah, this is one of those ‘fangirl’ appearances you warned me about,” he said, dropping his eyes. She hadn’t even realized how late it was. Or actually how early. It made her wonder why he was out here and not in bed. Oh God, this was the first she’d spoken to him and weeks and she was about to wake him up and drag him out of bed just to yell at him. Why was she like this?

“Sorry. I hadn’t… I didn’t realize…” her stunted apologies just kept coming so she got right to the reason she was here, wanted to make this short so she was out of his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Killian let out a bitter chuckle at that, started scraping at the edges of the top label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail. “Sorry, I should have known you would have wanted to be the first fan to know.”

That stung. But she kind of deserved it for how she’d treated him, unintentionally or not. And he had his walls too. It wasn’t fair of her to expect him to welcome her back without a little defense at first. It was why they understood each other so well.

Emma sighed and walked toward him, raising her eyebrows at him to silently ask his permission to sit. He scooted over. “I didn’t expect to be the first person to know. But I did want to be one of the first you _told_. Because it’s a huge deal for you and I thought maybe you would have wanted to share that with me. Someone who is proud of what you’ve accomplished, someone who cares about you.”

“Like you told me about taking the job at the station? Like you told me you didn’t want to speak to me again?” Killian was looking at her with wide eyes and a whole lot of hurt.

He deserved the truth. She trusted him with it. Trusted him to understand.

“I was too afraid that I would tell you and you would be really happy for me. I was afraid that you would really care and that I would like how that would feel,” Emma told him in a wobbly voice. His face softened a bit, his frown didn’t look as tight. “And I was avoiding you because I thought you were avoiding me. I didn’t know you’d written on the back of that card. I was too focused on realizing how much it probably upset you that I hadn’t told you. And when I finally discovered my mistake, I figured I had screwed everything up too badly already.”

She couldn’t face him confirming her last statement so she shifted her eyes down toward her hands where they were picking at a loose thread on the hem of her green sweater. But then Killian’s hand came into view too as he placed it gently over her wrist.

“Of course I was happy for you. I _am_ happy for you. And I _do_ care. Whether you say these things to my face or not, I will _always_ care. I know you, Emma. And I can’t _un_ know you. I can’t uncare. So you didn’t screw everything up. I should have found a bigger card or drew a little arrow or something.”

The thought of a tiny arrow fixing weeks’ worth of misunderstanding made her let out a short laugh and meet his eyes again where she could see the edges of his smile crinkling their corners. “Yeah, an arrow probably would have been helpful.”

It was quiet for a few moments before he confessed, “You know, I haven’t told anyone about the movie yet.”

“Not even David?” He was Killian’s best friend. She thought for sure he’d told David on one of their lunch trips and passing the news onto her had just slipped the man’s mind.

“Not even David. When I first got the call a few days ago, the first thing I did was run home, ready to tell Liam. But then I got here and the house was empty. Being back in this town, working down at the shipyard like I did when I first graduated high school, hanging out with the Nolans again, getting to know you has just made me feel so much like the person I was before I lost him that for a moment I’d forgotten that he wasn’t here. And after I remembered that I couldn’t tell him, it hurt too much to tell anyone else.” His eyes had gone watery so she snatched up his hand and held it tight within hers and as they swung in the breeze, he shared the story of how he’d lost his older brother.

Nobody liked to talk about it, but Storybrooke wasn’t always as boring and peaceful as it was now. There was a period of time when Killian was in his late teens to early twenties when the town was being led by a corrupt mayor (the current mayor’s mother) (Regina was very different from Cora, Killian assured her). Liam was a deputy at this time and discovered the citizens’ tax dollars were lining someone’s pockets and suspected Cora. When he got too close to outing her, the woman set up a trap. Called the station and said she’d seen someone lurking in the woods surrounding her home. When Liam arrived, she shot him and then claimed she thought he was the person she’d seen outside, that he hadn’t announced himself.

But that “wasn’t bloody likely” because Liam was incredible at his job and wouldn’t have forgotten something so important. And more than that, Killian knew about the contents of the secret copies of all of Liam’s evidence he kept in a locked drawer in his home office. And it was a good thing because when another cop went looking for the files at the station, they had miraculously disappeared. And since the woman hadn’t known about the secret copies or the secret help Liam had gotten from his fellow deputy or that he had recorded the exchange at Cora’s house that night, they were able to lock the woman up. She was in a state penitentiary a few hours out of town now.

Killian had been training with David to become deputies between his shifts at the shipyard-

(“Why _did_ you start working at the shipyard again? Shouldn’t you be writing or something?”)

(“You sound like my agent. I missed being around the ships and the water. It’s where most of my inspiration comes from anyways.”)

-at the time but after he lost his brother, he couldn’t bear living in Storybrooke without Liam, let alone walk into the station and not see him hunched over his desk, determination in his brow. Upon later reflection, he realized he never really wanted to become a cop anyways, just wanted to be like his older brother.

(“So that’s why you never came in when you had lunch plans with David? Not because you didn’t want to see me?”)

(“Have you been keeping tabs on me, love?... Aye. When I dropped those gifts off on your first day, I went early and waited outside the building for David to get there. But I almost went in. Looked through the window first. Everything was just much too unchanged. It looks exactly the same. Even the desks haven’t moved an inch.”)

(“Which reminds me. I think I have Liam’s old desk. I found a picture of the two of you in one of the drawers. I can bring it to you if you’d like.”)

(“I’d love that, Swan. Thank you.”)

So, he’d left town for Ireland (even with David and Mary Margaret begging him to stay), a thirst for revenge sitting heavy on his tongue, anger gritting his teeth.

And when he’d gotten drunk one night about a year later and began typing on his laptop about a boy, and a flying ship, and an adventure (the first time he’d written since Liam’s passing), he’d realized that writing was the only thing that would get him over those emotions (his characters took on all his fight).

(“Liam _had_ always instilled in me the idea that the pen was mightier than the sword.”)

And when he finished his tale, Emma didn’t apologize for his loss or share a sad story of her own because she knew that wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was the company of someone who understood on this lonely porch of this even lonelier house.

So she entwined their fingers and laid her head against his shoulder, sat in the cool night until her eyelids began to droop and goosebumps formed on her skin.

At her yawn, Killian shifted and told her she should head back to her apartment and get some sleep. And when she asked if he ever slept, he replied, “I usually sit out here until I can’t keep my eyes open and then go straight to bed.”

That sounded so incredibly heartbreaking to her that she almost offered to stay with him. But she wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

Instead, she let him walk her to his front gate and when he offered to walk her home, she turned him down, wanting the solitude to give her some space to think. She had a lot to think about.

“Again, I’m sorry for all the weird avoidance. And for charging up to your door in the middle of the night like a crazy person,” Emma apologized with a small laugh, shuffling her feet and crossing her arms so she wouldn’t wrap them around him.

Killian looked ethereal in the moonlight shining down on them through the clear sky, maybe even like a dark fairy with his slightly pointed ears. When he shot her a genuine smile, she swore it was a little magical. “It was sort of a group effort, love, so don’t worry yourself over it. And feel free to stop by in the middle of the night anytime, whatever your motive is,” he gave her a wink. Then took on a more serious tone. “I mean it. As you can see, I’m usually up anyways.”

“Okay.” She turned to leave but then stopped to look back at him and add, “Seriously, congratulations on the movie. I’m glad more people are going to be able to experience the story you created. And you know I’m going to be one of the first to see it.”

“Thank you, Emma.” She nodded and took a step toward town but stopped again at his voice. “And there won’t be any more avoiding? Or did you want to try to start over again?”

His question made Emma think of his words from earlier and how much he’d opened up to her. “No more avoiding,” she confirmed. “And we can’t start over because we can’t unknow each other. Besides, I don’t want to start over. I think I like where we are right now.”

Killian ducked his head and looked up at her through his eyelashes, seemingly in an attempt to hide the excited smile she could just catch the edges of.

That’s when she finally took her leave.

And while she walked, she found that her steps were more steady and solid than they’d ever been the past year, because that “walking on eggshells” feeling she’d always had in Storybrooke had weakened after her time with Killian.

Emma had been trying desperately to hold on to the serenity of the perfection of this town but after hearing Killian’s story, she’d learned that it was never perfect to begin with and that every place, every person, every _thing_ had at least a little darkness in them.

And if she could find the closest thing she’d ever felt to security, peace, a home in a place like this, finding something similar in Killian (hypothetically, of course) couldn’t be so bad. Right?

* * *

Emma’s life became a whole lot busier than she was used to after that night, mostly by her choice.

She’d finished with the new filing system so her shifts at the station slowly became more training oriented. She’d ride with Graham out on patrol or listen to David as he explained different protocols or sit with both of them as they went through the arrest process and complained about the worst ones they’d had to deal with.

Her shifts at the library were basically the same, but her brain was filled with so many more prospects and plans that loading books on and off of shelves seemed weirdly hectic.

She’d spend most of her evenings with Killian (always making her worry that she was keeping him from his writing) (It _was_ his career after all.), either reading together at the library after they got off work, or having dinner while watching TV at her place.

On one of those nights, when none of their shows were on and he was looking at her particularly intensely over his Chinese in the quiet of her apartment, she decided it was time to share a piece of herself with him.

She showed him an article from twenty-eight years ago that detailed a story of a baby found abandoned on the side of a road in Maine wrapped only in a baby blanket stitched with the name _Emma._ An article that detailed her beginning, detailed the reason her abandonment issues began.

And when she showed him the blanket that she’d kept all these years, he held it gently and traced his pointer finger reverently over each letter of her name. Emma swore she could almost feel that finger tracing over her heart.

But they were _friends,_ even though she always felt that kiss sitting heavy between them, neither one mentioning it. Not once. Maybe they both just needed time.

Or maybe Emma was just far too stubborn to be the one to broach the subject. Things were good how they were. She would need to ease into a change like that.

That didn’t mean she didn’t care for Killian more than she usually cared about friends (even though she tried to deny it with all she had).

In fact, she cared so much that the nights she wasn’t with him, she was down at the station redecorating. _Redecorating_. She couldn’t believe it either.

While she couldn’t do a whole lot with her budget and specific regulations, she repainted the white walls a soft, pale yellow, cleaned off all the bulletin boards (there were seriously flyers from _years_ ago), moved all of the filing cabinets so they sat together on one wall, rearranged the desks in a much less crammed fashioned and, most importantly in her mind (and the most nerve-wracking), she had a bigger, nicer plaque (apparently the station already had one but it was small and half-hidden behind a tall stack of boxes in the main room) made for Liam Jones and hung it on the wall beside the front windows right where his desk used to sit.

But Emma never told Killian what she’d been doing because she didn’t want to make him feel obligated to come in and see it if he wasn’t ready. She just wanted to make the space feel different and less daunting if he ever had a reason to stop by the station.

David loved the idea and loved the results of her project, and when Mary Margaret came to see it, she got so excited she made Emma promise to help paint and decorate their baby’s nursery even though she’d already roped her into helping decorate for their party at that week where they planned to announce their pregnancy.

And apparently one of them loved it enough to spill the beans (probably Mary Margaret) to Killian because the next morning when David was out on patrol and Graham was out on a call, she heard apprehensive footsteps rounding the corner and looked up to find him standing there taking in the room with a disbelieving eye. He hadn’t quite entered the room completely, like he wanted to be able to escape as soon as possible if it became too much (that made a lot of sense to her).

When Killian finally finished scanning the room, he turned his gaze on her. It made her flush and shoot nervously up to her feet.

“You did this?” he asked her, gesturing around the room with his hand. And now that he was here, she was second-guessing herself. Maybe she made it worse for him to see this place.

“Yeah. I can change it back if you ha-,” He stopped her before she could finish.

“No, no, no,” Killian took quick steps toward her in time with his words. “It’s incredible, Emma. It looks really nice. It’s completely different.” At her panicked eyes, he laid his hands against her upper arms and continued. “That’s a good thing. I don’t feel like I want to shove my fist through the wall. And I hope no one else ever does. That’s a gorgeous color.”

She sees him glance towards her hair and knows he’s noticing the shade isn’t too far off from it.

“I just thought that if there was ever a day where you had an emergency or wanted to come in to see David-,” Emma stopped when Killian cut in.

“Or you.” He added with confidence. She had to finish her sentence through a smile.

“-or me, a new setup might make it easier. But I wasn’t going to tell you. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to come see it if you weren’t ready.”

“Aye, well, as you probably know, Mary Margaret is pretty bloody terrible at keeping secrets. Plus, I’ve been trying to build up the courage to visit the place, anyways. I figured the redecoration had to have made it somewhat easier, that and you being here.” He shifted his eyes downward to watch as his hands slid down her arms to clasp her hands, but her eyes were firmly glued to the plaque on the wall behind him.

Emma was still nervous about his reaction to that, wasn’t sure if he’d noticed it during his first once-over.

Killian followed her gaze when he caught her. And then she followed _him_ as he took slow steps toward that picture of his brother.

He was quiet and still for a while, only moving to lift his hand and run a finger down the edge of it, and she was sure he hated it, so she tried to explain herself. “The other plaque wasn’t in the best shape and I thought he deserved a much nicer one. Hanging it over the place he used to sit seemed like the right placement for it. But I can take it down or move it or you can have it. I just want to do the best thing here.”

(She wanted to lift some of that pain off of his shoulders.)

There were tears pooling in his eyes when he half-turned to look back at her. “Swan, it’s perfect. You’re correct. This is indeed where it should be. Of course, Liam would have bloody well hated the attention it brought to him, but he deserves to be honored in some way. Thank you. Truly.” A tear slipped loose at his final word and Killian quickly whipped back around to hide it from her.

Crying was a vulnerable thing to do in front of someone and Emma wanted him to know that he could trust her with his tears so she stepped up beside him and took his hand.

She’d never had so much appreciation and adoration aimed at her than she did when he turned toward her and swept her into a hug, one arm over her shoulder and the other around her waist. After a moment and a deep, steadying breath, she returned his embrace.

Gently, his fingers began threading through the hair hanging down her back and she relaxed even more, angling her face into his collar and breathing in the scent that had become so familiar, so comforting to her.

They held each other for what seemed like ages and yet when he began to pull back, she wasn’t quite ready to let go. Perhaps Killian wasn’t either because he didn’t remove his arms from around her, only arched backward enough to meet her eyes.

In Killian’s third book, there was a part where he described this feeling a person gets when they sense a big shift coming, a turning point. He said that even if there isn’t a huge catalyst of a warning, your body just _knows_ , you can feel a humming in your bones, your feet itch to round the corner and figure out what this change will be, your eyes strain to notice anything different. But most prominent of all, your heart seems to pound quicker and slower at the same time.

Emma had related to that feeling when she first read that book, but she had never experienced it as strongly as she had in this moment.

He hadn’t warned her that it could be so overwhelming that she’d lose her breath.

Perhaps that was the reason she ducked her head when she was positive he was going to kiss her. It certainly wasn’t because she didn’t _want_ him to kiss her.

Somehow, she sort of believed he knew what was going on in her mind, could read the words she was thinking of through the crown of her head because he took a step backward, not leaving, just giving space. (She really didn’t want him to leave.)

A ray of sunlight slipped low enough to poke perfectly through the branches of the tree in the yard to glare into the window and over the spot where they were standing.

“It’s a beautiful day for sailing. I was thinking about taking the boat out this evening if you’d care to join me?” Looking at Killian, she could see that he hadn’t really been thinking about it before but she was glad he was now.

Maybe it was because she felt a little bit like she was going to be living out a part of her favorite books or, more likely, it was because she craved the experience of another side of him, craved his presence beside her, craved the shift she sensed, but she was excited at the idea.

“I’d like that. Will Charlie be there?”

* * *

Emma stared in her mirror and contemplated taking the necklace off. Bringing her fingers up to touch it, she felt the ridges of the upraised swan rubbing against the pad of her pointer.

It had started as a keychain when Neal bought it for her all those years ago but after he abandoned her with the watch he stole to be arrested, she removed the pendant and slid it onto a chain that would fit around her neck.

She wore it every day (usually tucked under her shirt so no one would ask about it) to serve as a reminder. A reminder of what placing her trust, her heart, into the hands of another person could do.

Tonight was the first time she’d felt inclined to remove it. And it wasn’t just because of the lower neckline of the flowy, powder blue dress she’d decided to wear for her outing with Killian.

It was because she almost felt like maybe she didn’t have to worry about what it stood for when she was with him.

But still. She hesitated. And that moment of hesitation was long enough for a soft rap to sound at the door of her apartment.

So Emma left the necklace resting in the center of her chest, floofed her curled locks over her shoulders, slipped on her strappy sandals, and made her way toward the noise.

By the time she opened the door, the man on the other side was poised to knock again so his fist hung in the air between them as they took in the appearance of one another.

Killian was wearing a dark button down (that she could see had a paisley print in a certain light) rolled to his elbows, straight, dark jeans, a shiny pair of black dress shoes, and an awestruck expression.

His fist lowered down to his side, now giving her a view of the chest he always had exposed (though tonight it wasn’t on display as much as it usually was, there weren’t as many buttons undone), the light dusting of dark hair there, and his other hand pushed into the space separating them holding the same kind of pink flower he’d given her that first day at the station.

“You’re a vision, Swan,” he breathed as she plucked the flower from his grip.

Emma delicately placed it into the vase that rested upon the table beside her door, making a note to add some water when she got home. “You look pretty dashing yourself.”

Her appraisal brought a big smirk to his mouth, as they’d had a few conversations about how he fancied himself a pirate and descriptors like dashing, charming, _rapscallion_ (she found it ridiculous but endearing all the same, seeing that his main character inherited quite of few of the author’s traits).

The walk toward the docks was quiet but exciting, shy smiles, quick footsteps, and hand brushes filling up the silence. For the first time in a long time, Emma felt the thrill of nerves she used to get around a crush when she was a kid. But, upon reflection, she realized she wasn’t nervous that she would do something embarrassing and lose his attention, she was nervous he would let her kiss him, nervous her feelings for him would grow even deeper and take root, nervous those things would freak her out and make her run.

In the time she’d known him, Killian had never shown her his boat, so it was a little magical when they came upon it. Because it had always been docked here. She was familiar with the name painted on the side (though now the letters of _The Jewel_ seemed to be repainted) and the towering mass of it, had seen them on the walks she sometimes took down to the water, admired the way the waves and sun reflected off of the shiny body.

“This will be my first time on the old girl since… well. I’ve missed her. She’s a marvel, isn’t she?” Killian sounded passionate as he helped her up onto the deck and strode around readying it for sail, his short hair flipping a little on the breeze. She stood on the edge out of the way and watched, the words he’d written about a boy who loved being out on open water ringing in her head.

_Charlie traveled the deck toward the wheel, a confidence in his step that hadn’t been there before the Captain took him under his wing. He only wished the man who had become his closest friend was here to see him now. Although, he probably would have teased him for the way his eyes never seemed to stray too long from the woman standing near the prow and the way her long, red waves flew wildly with the wind. It seemed he was partial toward waves, whether they were the ocean’s or Layna’s._

“Not to worry though, Swan. I’m not out of practice. _The Jewel_ is just far superior to the others I sailed the last few years. You never forget your first,” he said, stopping in front of her just so she could catch his wink.

“Well, this is my first time on a boat so I hope it’s pretty memorable.”

* * *

It’s not often that a reader gets to experience what it’s like to live inside their favorite story for a moment, besides only picturing it inside their mind. Sometimes it almost comes close if an author’s words are descriptive and transporting enough, but even then you can’t see the real thing with your eyes or feel it on your skin.

So Emma was going to enjoy this.

She sat at the front of the deck with her head tilted back and her arms propping up her upper body and she used all of her senses to soak up the moment.

Her eyes took in the view of rippling water being met with sky at the farthest point out, an oranging sunset meeting dark teal ocean and if she turned around, she could see the town that had begun to change her as they hadn’t travelled too far out.

The scents of seawater and fresh spring wind mixed with the greasy smell of the grilled cheese, hamburgers, onion rings, and french fries whose wrappers sat on the blanket beside her to fill her nostrils.

The taste of those favorite foods of hers rested on her tongue.

Emma could hear the sloshing of waves and the quieter sound of the sails billowing gently in the air above her.

Her skin seemed to experience the most. The palms of her hands pressed into smooth wood. Her exposed legs bathed in the last tendrils of warmth the evening had to offer. The scalp of Emma’s head was tugged every so often with her flowing locks getting caught on a stray breeze. A long-lasting smile pulled her cheeks taut. Most prominent of all, she could feel Killian’s eyes on every inch of her, causing goosebumps to rise.

“Are you enjoying yourself, love?” He asked her after many minutes of silence. She really, really was.

“I am. I feel like I’m Charlie relaxing after a big adventure. Or maybe it would be before. He’s always in between them, isn’t he?”

“Does that make me Layna, then?” He raised a teasing eyebrow at her.

“I don’t think your hair’s long enough.” Her reply nudged forth sweet chuckles from them both and Emma felt a piece of this night click right into her heart. But she hadn’t realized her walls were down enough for that to be possible. That thought brought her hand unbidden to the pendant around her neck.

Apparently that brought his attention to it.

“I always wondered what was on the chain you wear. A swan for a swan, eh?” Emma could only smile in return, hadn’t figured out how to voice the Neal story. At her silence, he continued, “I wear one too. A chain. Mine has a ring on it. Liam called it his lucky sailing ring. Said it brought good weather.”

He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a silver band with a circular ruby gem. She hadn’t noticed the chain before with his shirt buttoned more than it usually was. Killian held it out so she could see but kept his gaze out toward the open water.

“I took up his habit of wearing it sailing after he passed. I sometimes even wear it when I need a bit of confidence. Gods know I need all the bloody luck I can get.” At his last sentence, his tone took on a sad, dark note and when she brought her eyes to his face, she could see he was remembering something terrible, something other than his brother’s death. Emma wondered what else he could have possibly endured.

“He told me he got it from our mother when our father took them sailing before I was born. The man himself never extended that kindness to me. Liam fell in love with sailing during that single trip so he learned and then passed that love onto me when I was old enough. I suppose it runs in our blood.” She couldn’t tell if he was proud of that or hated it, probably a little of both. “We got a lot of use out of this thing when we moved here and found this lovely lass,” he finished with a loving pat to the deck beneath them.

“Mine isn’t exactly lucky. The reason I have it certainly isn’t at least,” Emma began. “It started off as a keychain. A stolen keychain.”

She told him that it wasn’t the only stolen thing she owned. The first time she’d seen the little yellow car she drove, she had to have it. Not just because she needed a convenient object in which she could both travel _and_ sleep. It was because its bright color almost seemed to symbolize its ability to take her somewhere better, somewhere without the darkness she felt bogging her down in Portland.

So she attempted to steal it. The only problem was that someone had already stolen it. The man who popped up from the backseat and almost caused her to swerve off the road. She’d found it romantic at the time, so she didn’t mind very much that she’d have to share her find.

Neal wasn’t exactly charming, but Emma related to him in so many ways (both orphans, both running away, both stealing to get by) that she quickly formed a strong bond with him that developed into the only kind of love she’d felt in her eighteen years.

They did all of their stealing together after that, even snuck into musty motel rooms so they could have more room than the back seat of the bug. And while she and Neal enjoyed referring to themselves as Bonnie and Clyde sometimes, she never thought about the tragic ending they were bound to face if that was who they were.

Neal stole the keychain for Emma from a small shop not long before their relationship ended, not long before he abandoned her just like the rest of the people who were supposed to love her. Only his abandonment was worse because it came with a betrayal, a jail sentence for his stolen watches that were supposed to take them to Tallahassee for a new beginning.

After she was released, she discovered that Neal had felt guilty enough to leave her the car at least, had found the swan keychain hanging off of the keyring.

The pendant followed her through her long period of anger. The period in which she stole risky things for fun instead of out of necessity and skipped court dates and sped down highways (which was probably why her car didn’t make the prettiest noises anymore).

It followed her through her self-retribution stage when she’d spend her nights at the bar trying to trap bail skippers and spend her days chasing down bail skippers and use up her free time searching for bail skippers. Emma craved the ache in her legs when she ran in her heals, the twinge in her heart that came after a skip threw her hurt in her face, the bone-deep exhaustion that weighed her down after a difficult chase, the loneliness she forced herself to feel as she sipped a beer in a corner by herself.

It followed her when she worked herself so hard for so long that the very thought of looking up the name of her next skip made her collapse into a fit of _Is this it?_ and _How much longer will I have to fight until I find what I’ve always been searching for?._

Lastly, it followed her in her search to find the peace she’d been longing for, the healing and quiet her heart had always needed. It followed her to Storybrooke, to the library, to his books, to _Granny’s Diner_.

All the while, it reminded her of the risk she would be taking if she ever tried to find those things in another person.

“Sometimes I wonder if falling in love with him was even worth it. Wouldn’t things be better if I hadn’t met him?” Emma finished her story with questions she didn’t expect Killian to answer. But he did.

“I felt that same way after I lost Milah.” His hand reached over to rub at the tattoo on his right forearm. The pain in his voice told her that this was that other terrible thing. Emma sat up straighter and placed her hand over his like she did that night on his porch.

“I met her in a pub four years ago while I was travelling. She had this excited sense of adventure just waiting to escape. She took me all over that town showing me around. We went sailing a few times too but she didn’t really enjoy it as much as I did. Milah wanted to do the moving, not sit on something else while it did it for her.” Killian’s teeth just barely snuck through his lips when he smiled and looked toward the darkening sky.

“I didn’t find out she was married until a few weeks after the affair started. Said she resented her husband for his cowardice at work, that he wouldn’t take any chances even if it meant making a better life for them. She’d long before fallen out of love with him. And she told me she waited to tell me until she was ready to leave him, had divorce papers drawn up and everything. So we planned to leave town together the following week but when the day came, her husband called and said he’d finally asked for a promotion at work and had gotten it and would be home early to celebrate.

“So Milah called me and frantically explained while she finished packing her bag. She was in a rush because she didn’t want to be there when he saw the papers. The skies were dumping rain that day and I could hear the thunder rumbling over the receiver when she got into her car. I made her hang up so she wouldn’t be even more distracted while she drove to meet me. Told her to be careful, that I loved her. But she never made it. Her car slipped off the road.

“All I could think about afterward was how much I wished I’d given her Liam’s ring. I couldn’t even go to the funeral because I wouldn’t be able to explain who I was to her loved ones. And I blamed myself for her death. If she hadn’t have met me, she wouldn’t have been leaving her husband and she wouldn’t have been driving that night. I left town a few days later. I’d been there for five months, the longest I’d ever stayed anywhere during the time. I poured myself even more into my writing, started calling David twice a week to talk.

“Even though I feel incredibly guilty for it, I can’t bring myself to regret loving her. My love for her got her through tough times with her husband and made her feel free again. And her love for me healed parts of me and made me feel happy again. We couldn’t have known how it would end. We both needed to feel that love at that time in our lives so I don’t regret it. I only regret how we went about our plans to leave.

“So, while I hate that Neal abandoned you like that and I’m sure you do too, wouldn’t you say you needed that love at that time?” At that, Emma nodded while hating that he’d had to lose another person he’d loved. “You learned from it and it eventually brought you here to this beautiful night under a clear sky out on a calm sea,” Killian told her while lying back on the blanket to look up at said sky. “Regret how it ended but never regret feeling love, being loved. Love is far too rare.”

Hearing him speak like that reminded her why she’d felt so comforted in his books. It reminded her that he understood the different forms pain presented itself in and the difficult things it made us feel and do.

She slowly laid down next to him to remind _him_ that she understood too.

Killian seemed to want to lighten the mood a touch so he pointed out a few constellations in the sky as the stars began popping through the darkness. Hazy moonlight shone over his face when Emma turned her head to watch him.

“Thank you for tonight,” she whispered to him after he’d finished speaking. She wasn’t prepared for him to turn his face to look at her and the close proximity of their noses made her a little flustered. “Even though the talk was a little heavy for a first date.” She cringed before the final word could even leave her lips.

“A date? This is a date?” Killian asked, but his shit-eating grin said a date was exactly what he had hoped this was. Her cheeks tinged slightly red and she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Come now, Swan, it’s alright. I consider that first night at your place with the spiked hot chocolate our first date anyways.” That, and the poke he gave her waist made her let out a giggle, surprising them both. She had to have been a child the last time she’d let out a sound like that.

Killian shifted so his whole body faced her and propped his head up in his hand with his elbow to the deck. When he looked down at her, his face became her clear sky, his eyes her stars, his mouth her moon. “I wish I could capture that sound in words.”

“Would you settle for capturing it with your lips?” Her giggle this time was shy, quieter, mostly caused by the fact that she couldn’t believe she’d said something like that. It was corny. It was something he’d say.

So naturally, he loved it.

“Aye, I think that could work quite well.”

Even with the invitation, he waited. Just smiled gently at Emma until she brought her hands up to cup his face. Killian’s stubble poked at her palms as she pulled his face down to her.

Their kiss wasn’t fiery like the last one, wasn’t fueled by the tension of a challenge. This one was gentle, a slow slide of lips that made her feel the little tingles at the base her chest that Charlie felt after he first kissed Layna.

His hand came up to wrap one of her curls around his finger and in return, all of her fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his head.

The hair there felt so soft that she brought her other hand up to push through the longer strands on the top of his head. And though Killian’s hands were calloused from years of sailing, the pad of his thumb felt incredibly soft too when he thumbed at her chin. His sleeves were soft as they brushed against the bare skin of her arms and the skin on tip of his nose was soft when it nudged the tip of hers.

Everything was just so _soft_. Calming. _Peaceful._

And though the blanket and the ocean were both underneath her, she felt as if she was wrapped up and floating in warm waves.

_Peaceful_.

* * *

The sail back to the docks was peaceful too. _And_ the walk to his house.

What happened when they got inside was also peaceful just in a more exciting way.

All it had taken was a single question and reply to make the shift.

The question was Emma’s, asked after she’d spotted the typewriter (because of course he had one) sitting on a desk in his living room.

“Have you been writing anything new?”

Killian’s answer came from close behind her, swift and sincere.

“I was waiting to see how this story played out first.”

In a moment, Emma was turned around, her lips crashing a little wildly against Killian’s, her legs pushing them toward the couch. When they reached it, she nudged him down onto it and pulled the hem of her dress a few inches up her thighs to straddle his legs.

His lips, a smidge chapped from their earlier kiss, were parted in a surprised ‘o’ when she dove back in. These kisses were wet and open-mouthed, definitely fiery but in a more passionate way.

It felt right to sit in Killian’s lap and press down gently against him with her hips, right to grab at the collar of his shirt to keep him right where she wanted him, right to slip her tongue just slightly past his lips.

But it also felt like Emma could forget about protecting her heart and worrying over her urge to run.

So she moved her fingers down to pop open the buttons of his shirt.

Killian seemed almost reluctant as he pulled back from her, their separating lips making a noise that had her squirming a little and pushing her fingers to work faster.

He pressed his hand over both of hers to halt their movement. When she looked up at him with an eyebrow raised in question, he asked, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” It made her stop and think and, wow, she usually never had to be reminded of that. “Not that I don’t want to do this with you. I just want you to be ready. And to do it for the right reasons. It’s been an emotional night.”

Yeah, Emma had changed enough that she wouldn’t panic over the kisses they’d been sharing, but she couldn’t be positive she wouldn’t freak out and skip town immediately if she slept with him tonight.

Dropping her hands, she maneuvered herself to get up. “You’re probably right.”

Hands shot out to grab at her waist right before she went to flip her leg off of him. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to stay. It’s late and I don’t want to say goodbye. So… stay?”

* * *

Turned out that Emma’s clothes did come off that night, but only so she could change into a pair of his baggy sweats and a t-shirt that had been worn soft.

Killian offered her his bed, saying he’d take Liam’s old room. But she knew he really didn’t want to do that and would wind up with a sore back from sleeping on his couch downstairs. His bed was king-sized and she didn’t want to say goodbye either, even to move to another room.

“No. We’ll share. I know you’re a gentleman. I promise to be one too.” Emma wiggled her fingers at him and crawled into her side of the bed, noticing how much more comfortable it was than her own.

With a final look at her, as if to say, “ _You’re positive?”,_ he crawled in next to her. Knowing she wouldn’t fall asleep with the excited nerves that came with lying next to him, she had an idea.

“Will you read to me again?” Killian propped placed his hands behind his head and settled in with a little wiggle.

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time…”

* * *

Waking usually came with a little nausea and a lot of drowsiness for Emma, but it had been a while since she’d woken with a familiar urge stuck in her gut. She hadn’t missed it but before she’d even opened her eyes, she could feel it.

However, it was merely tickling at her and it wasn’t intense enough to vacate the warm comfort she was surrounded by. It wasn’t until she blearily blinked her eyes open that she realized why it was there.

The first thing she saw was Killian facing her from across his bed. A smile pulled at her lips at the slackness of his jaw and the soft snores emanating from his throat, but never reached its full size due to the tickle giving her a little twinge. It was telling her to get her ass up and run.

Grabbing her phone to check the time, she remembered that she hadn’t set her alarm and had to go if she didn’t want to be late.

Quickly and quietly, she slipped into his bathroom and changed, left his clothes folded back up on his bed, made sure she shut the front door quietly enough not to wake him (partly because she didn’t know how to handle speaking to him right now but mostly because she wasn’t positive how long it had been since he’d slept so deeply like that).

Only then did she run. Just to her apartment though. Not out of town. Not for the hills.

She could push through it, she knew it.

Especially since she hadn’t even really worried about having forgotten her necklace on Killian’s bedside table (she started taking it off at nights after she woke up one morning with an ugly indent in her cheek). In fact, Emma almost felt like she didn’t need it anymore, didn’t plan to ask Killian to bring it to her.

She could handle this change.

* * *

As the day progressed, Emma became less sure.

When she walked into the station right on time and without a coffee in her hand (which should have been a sign that her day would be stressful), David was standing at her desk with an excited smile on his face, reminding her that his and Mary Margaret’s baby announcement party was tonight and that she took the day off from the library to help prepare.

“Excited for your party tonight, David? You usually can’t manage more than a scowl until after lunch.” He was much like her in this way.

“No. Well, yes, I’m excited but that’s not why I’m smiling.” For a second, Emma worried that he’d found out about her night with Killian, though she wasn’t sure if he would be happy about it or not. But she would face this head on. She walked towards him until she stood right in front of him.

David reached for his back pocket, “Emma, I’d like to offer you a deputy position,” and held a badge out between them.

She knew this was coming sometime, had been training for the job and yet she was still shocked that it had happened. Her mouth was hanging open and her hand hovered over top of his.

The thing was, she _wanted_ this promotion, had found a passion for the work she did the past few weeks, didn’t fear the permanency like she used to.

However, at his offer, her tickle progressed into a dull ache.

“So, do you want to be a deputy?” There was so much hope in his eyes at his question that she pushed through the feeling again.

Laying her hand over the badge in his told him she accepted, but she needed the words too. “Absolutely.”

* * *

Mary Margaret was so ecstatic that she cried so Emma accepted her hugs and excited praise while they decorated town hall with gold streamers, set out tables and chairs, and made bright fruit salad and punch. It was a lot of work since they’d of course invited practically everyone in town.

When the guests arrived and Emma discovered she could greet them all by name, it freaked her out and caused that urge to start bubbling.

Almost everyone was present by the time Killian showed up, but almost like magic, the crowd seemed to part and he was heading right toward her. Seeing him calmed her, centered her, helped her breathe around the feeling that seemed to be filling her up.

The expression on his face screamed _relieved_ , like maybe he’d been afraid she ran. Emma figured he probably called or texted but her phone had been dead since 9:30 that morning.

Killian held her hands and it felt pretty perfect. “You look radiant, darling,” he complimented her, his eyes never leaving her face even though she’d thought he’d meant the dress. It was long sleeved and black with spring-colored flowers printed all over it, probably the prettiest thing she owned, purchased specifically for this party. Her hair was even in an intricate braid that she’d woven to put her mind on something else.

“Yeah, this dress is pretty great. You can thank Mary Margaret for forcing me to buy it.”

“Aye, the dress is great. Though I meant you.” Killian’s compliment brought her eyes up from where she’d been staring at the hem near her knees. “I would have enjoyed waking up to the sight of you this morning.”

“Sorry. Duty called.”

“Indeed. It does that,” he said with a chuckle.

And because she hadn’t shared her news last time and he really deserved to know, “Speaking of duty, David promo-,” Emma was cut off by Leroy’s booming voice telling everyone to “shut their pieholes”. He was a brusque man, that one.

Dragging Killian by the hand toward their table up front, Emma listened as the Nolans announced their special news from the small stage.

“We have an announcement everyone!” Mary Margaret exclaimed.

“Are we getting another bench put in at the park?” A man’s voice. Probably one of Leroy’s gang.

It wouldn’t be surprising, Emma thought as she and Killian sat, if the woman had thrown a party for that purpose.

Mary Margaret ignored the comment. “David and I are having a baby!” The crowd went up in cheers and while Emma smiled happily, apparently she’d forgotten to feign surprise because Killian leaned over and nudged her arm.

“Did you already know, Swan?” She wondered why he’d even been looking at her anyways.

“Of course not,” she lied, her right shoulder shrugging in the tell he’d discovered the week prior.

“That’s not very fair. I’ll be having a long talk with David after this.” Emma patted his arm and laughed.

“There’s one other thing. Regarding the baby,” David quieted the crowd and looked to his wife. Were there two babies? _That_ would be a surprise to both her and Killian at least.

Mary Margaret took over again, her eyes searching the crowd until they landed on her and the man sitting beside her. “Emma, Killian, will you come up here please?”

Confusion pushing at her brows, Emma looked toward Killian but he seemed to be in the same boat. They stood together and made the trek to the stage. Her face heated. She’d always hated being in front of crowds, especially when she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be doing. Killian’s hand at her lower back helped a bit but drew David’s attention, his eyes snapping back and forth between them.

They stood in front of their best friends as Mary Margaret announced, “We’d love for you to be the baby’s godparents!”

_Woah, woah, woah._ The deputy job was permanent in a sense but this was _permanent_. How could they spring this on her in front of everyone? Maybe they’d thought she was ready to be a part of their family for real and if she was honest, she couldn’t imagine not saying yes but now she felt like she _had_ to say yes.

Of course the offer made her happy, but that feeling in her belly was bubbling now, distracting enough to keep her in her shocked stance until she saw Killian move to pull David into a back-slapping hug. Emma pulled Mary Margaret into a far gentler one (she was carrying her god baby after all).

“Of course.”

* * *

Killian still didn’t find out her news from her, much to her dismay.

After David told everyone to go eat, the couple spoke to them at the front of the room for a bit.

“Two promotions in one day, Emma! You’re moving on up!” Mary Margaret’s voice was loud enough to draw Killian’s attention.

“Don’t be mad. I tried to tell you about the deputy promotion when you first came in, but-,” Emma’s statement cut off in a grunt as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I’m not mad, Emma. This is bloody fantastic news!” She wondered if he knew the implications of her acceptance while she pressed her face to the side of his neck. Everything always seemed to quiet when they touched.

The embrace didn’t last as long as she would’ve preferred though because she quickly pulled out of it after catching the way David was watching the back of Killian’s head, arms crossed, lips pursed, brow furrowed.

“Is there something I should know about?” Yeah, he was definitely ready to be a dad.

“Not sure what you mean, Davey.”

“I thought we settled the ‘Davey’ thing years ago… mate.”

“Perhaps not.”

Before Emma could blink, David had Killian in a playful headlock with his free fist mussing up his styled hair.

So maybe he still had a little work to do.

* * *

“So I can break the rules as long as I’m with the deputy?” Killian whispered near her ear while he watched her insert her key into the door of the library.

Emma had dragged him (was it considered dragging if he was very willing?) there after two hours of nervous fidgeting and attempts at choking down small bites of food. She needed to be close to him, to touch him, to be comforted by him and she figured doing so between those familiar shelves wouldn’t hurt.

She turned the key and pushed the door open, trusting him to close it and follow her to that dark corner in the back. “As long as you don’t mind the risk of getting handcuffed,” she called over her shoulder. His footsteps quickened behind her so she sped up a little to reach the spot before he got there.

She’d just pressed her back to the wall when she saw him round the shelf. “Darling, don’t tease!”

Arms outstretched and mouth upturned, she welcomed him eagerly. This entanglement was hungry, him looking to celebrate good news, her chasing that peaceful feeling moments like this had come to offer her.

The entire library was dark rather than solely this spot, since she hadn’t turned on the lights in hopes that they wouldn’t be caught, but the streetlights shining through the cracks in the blinds were enough.

All she could think was _yes, this is exactly what I needed_ as he pressed his hips into hers and licked into her mouth, _he makes things better_ as he grabbed at the thigh she’d hiked around his waist.

And still she craved more of it, finally had a peace she could wrap herself around and greedily pulled at it. Her hands found his shoulders, her blunt nails digging into the leather there and she used the leverage to hop up and wind her legs around his waist. Killian growled when their hips made contact.

He was to her giggle as she was to his growl.

Now as they kissed, she ground down against the hardness forming below his belt and relished in the feeling of it rubbing against the most sensitive part of her. She wanted his hands on her breasts but she also liked where they pressed against her ass to prop her up.

The breaths Emma took through her nostrils were deep and smelled like a candle made personally to her liking with hints of fruity breath, Killian, and book pages.

At a particularly aggressive push of her hips, he pulled back to breathe an, “ _Emma_ ,” against her lips and all she could think was _I love him. I love him, I love him…_

“I lo-,” slipped from her freed mouth. She’d caught herself before she could finish, but still not nearly soon enough. Oh God, she loved him. She couldn’t handle another big change like that today. It was too much. “I left my necklace at your house this morning. Can we get it before you walk me back to my apartment?”

So affected by her ministrations, he could only nod in return and tilt his head back in for more. She pulled back enough to press her head flat against the wall so he’d look at her.

When he did, he was quick to understand. “Oh, now? Sure, love.” Killian placed her gently back on her feet but she was nowhere near steady.

In any sense of the word.

* * *

“Bad things come in threes,” one of her foster mothers had said after Emma and two of her foster siblings had come home bloody from a fight with the neighbor kids.

That saying was running on a loop through her mind as she walked beside Killian, her shoulders draped in the jacket she hadn’t even realized he’d placed over her.

Three huge changes that she was terrified of were handed to her today so that had to mean they were bad, right?

She could have handled the first two but that last one made it three and completed the saying.

The urge that presented itself to her that morning was now sizzling hot and wild right beneath her skin. She couldn’t ignore it or push through it anymore. Her only choice was to give in to it.

Her plan was to get her necklace, place it permanently around her neck, pack her meager belongings and go. No goodbyes. They would hurt too much this time.

Killian had to be able to sense that she was in a rush, always having to quicken his gait to catch up to her. She regretted that he was probably wondering if she wanted to go somewhere more private to continue what they’d started, wished that was what she was doing.

Rooting her feet to the floor of the foyer only a few steps inside the door after they finally entered, she waited as ran up the stairs to retrieve her necklace. When he returned a few moments later and handed it over, she turned and grabbed the door handle before he caught at her arm.

“Hey, you can stay for a while. We can watch a movie or something.”

“I’m actually kind of tired.” She didn’t stop her lying shrug in time, but he didn’t comment on it so maybe he hadn’t noticed.

Stepping around Emma, he pulled the door open for her. “Okay, let’s go then.”

If she didn’t actually look at him, she could sell her lies, control her tells. “Don’t worry about it. You’re already home. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Alright. I was thinking about bringing lunch to the station tomorrow. Would you like anything special?” The thought of him feeling comfortable enough to spend time with her at the station now distracted her as she told her next lie.

The shrug that accompanied this one was too big to miss. “That sounds nice, but I’ll probably be pretty busy with my new deputy duties so maybe another time.”

A disappointed sigh rang through the quiet house and his hands moved to his hips. “You’re going to go home and pack your bags, aren’t you?”

She knew he read her better than anyone but that was kind of impressive. When her surprised gaze pushed back up to his face, it was met by the top of his head as he stared at his shoes.

“I’m sorry, Killian. I’m not someone who can stay in one place for too long. It’s time for me to go.” Emma couldn’t stop lying and shrugging, shrugging and lying.

“Would you please stop lying to me? Don’t I deserve the truth?” She didn’t answer, only turned her back on him to leave. “I think the real problem is that you’ve realized that this past year has only been what you thought peace was supposed to feel like. But now you’ve found true peace, and happiness, and a home but in other people. And people haven’t always been too kind to you, have they?”

Her deepest truth spoken in his voice brought tears to her eyes. He knew all of the words of the book that lived inside of her without her ever having to read it to him.

“No. And how do I know this time will be any different?” she asked as she turned back around, desperately demanding an answer, begging as he begged her to stay.

“Mary Margaret and David love you enough to entrust you with their child. I never thought my heart would be capable of love again until I met you. They won’t leave you. _I_ won’t leave you. I wouldn’t be able to bear it. I wouldn’t be able to bear _you_ leaving _me_ either. I found my peace in you too.”

A single tear dripped down her cheek as she finally told the truth. “I don’t know how to be brave enough to stay.”

Killian placed his hands on both sides of her face, swiped the tear’s wet track away with his thumb. “Do you remember when Charlie was about to enter into his final battle? He held on to the things he knew and he stood side by side with Layna and he clung to the belief in his prophesy. You hold on to the things that make you happy and you stand side by side with me or Mary Margaret or David and you believe that you deserve to feel loved.”

More of her tears slipped out onto his fingers. “But that’s fictional.” They both knew that story was so much more than that, but her fear was grasping at straws.

“It’s real. It can be your reality.” Emma nodded, believing him now, trusting in the fight he was putting up to keep her from making a terrible mistake. “Don’t regret our ending. Don’t make us have one.”

She kicked the door firmly shut behind her and tasted salt on her lips as she pressed up on her toes to kiss him.

* * *

They laid in Killian’s bed for the second night in a row. Though there were several differences from that first night.

This time they were unclothed and tangled deliciously around each other, the sweat on their skin making them slightly sticky as it dried.

She had just experienced the truest sense of peace she’d ever felt.

It came after they’d removed their clothes and read the reactions of each other’s bodies with each touch. It washed right over her as he’d slid inside her, was amplified as sparks shot behind her closed eyelids and down her spine.

All the while, Killian's spoken words and the ones he’d written that started this whole thing floated around in her mind.

He’d broken the peace she thought she had and rebuilt a stronger one that she’d never be able to live without.

It made her wonder what else his words could do.

“Will you write me another book now?”

“As you wish.”

* * *

Emma finally received a new novel written by her favorite author on a Friday three years later.

She found _Broken Peaces_ on the dining room table of the Jones household when she got home from the station, setting her badge and keys on the table and promptly snatching it up.

It was as advanced a copy could get but she was impatient because Killian refused to let her have a single peek at any draft he’d written (“Sorry. No spoilers, Swan.”)

Not willing to wait any longer, she practically skipped over to the living room couch to sit down and read until Killian came home from the docks for their weekly dinner with Mary Margaret, David, and Leo.

She reached the dedication page and tears sprang to her eyes.

_“For my wife, Emma. Our story is my favorite.”_

After running her fingers across the words and rereading them an embarrassing amount of times, she flipped the page to _Chapter 1_ and made herself more comfortable by kicking her feet up onto the coffee table and propping the book up on her slightly swollen belly.

They’d soon be adding another character to their story.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to talk books and Captain Swan with you over on tumblr (hookedonbooks22)!!


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